Run Away (12 page)

Chapter 19

May 23, Thailand

“H
AVE Y
O
U
S
E
E
N
this?” Russia asked, without even saying good morning.

The day before they were due to return to England, the Escaping Grey group were bundled into a tiny café, taking over two of the five tables. While most of the eateries they’d visited in Thailand had been a little frayed around the edges, this one was sleek, modern, and air-­conditioned, with chrome fittings, white walls, and an industrial-­sized coffee machine that looked more like a spaceship fixture than a beverage maker. There was a middle-­aged British ­couple standing behind the counter—­they looked like the owners—­muttering in hushed, urgent voices. The atmosphere was tense.

“Hello to you too,” Kayla said, flopping into the one empty seat. “What’s happening?”

Sam gestured to the flat-­screen TV mounted on the wall. It was tuned into a British news channel, and flashing along the bottom of the screen were the words:
B
R
E
A
K
I
N
G
N
E
W
S
:
T
E
R
R
O
R
I
S
T
S
T
A
R
G
E
T
L
O
N
D
O
N
W
A
T
E
R
L
O
O
.

“What the . . . ?” Kayla stammered.

“Yesterday afternoon,” Dave said. “No one was hurt. Police foiled the attack before the bombs went off,” Even he was subdued.

“Bombs?”

“Yeah. Bombs planted all over the place. A staff member found one in the baggage area and alerted the police. Had to evacuate the whole building. Madness.”

Bling, whose face was so pale it was almost translucent, muttered, “Christ. I have family in London.”

Sam rubbed Bling’s shoulder, and even despite the terror, Kayla felt a twinge of jealousy.
Get a grip, Finch
.

One of the owners upped the volume on the TV. The news reader was saying, “ . . . emerged that a consulate from the Chinese embassy was on a southbound train traveling to Waterloo yesterday afternoon. It remains unclear whether his journey is linked to the planned attack on the station.”

“Do you think they were targeting him?” Bling asked no one in particular.

“Looks that way,” said Russia. “God, can you imagine if they’d gone off?” She shook her head. “The world is so full of evil ­people. It’s terrifying.”

“S’cuse me,” Bling mumbled, gripping her phone so tightly as she left the table that her knuckles went white.

“Probably off to call her family. Poor girl,” Sam said. Kayla clenched her fist.

Oliver, who’d been ordering more coffee, sat back down and sighed. He smelled of stale beer and even staler cigarettes, and several weeks of partying were etched onto his tanned face. He looked older than his twenty-­six years. “All right, team. As you all know, we’re due to fly back to the UK in four days’ time. However, things are a little uneasy in London right now, what with last week’s incident and now this. Tension is running high, and the UK authorities are insisting everyone remain calm and travel as usual, but—­”

“Last week’s incident?” Kayla interrupted. “What happened last week?” The rest of the group mirrored her ignorance.

“Oh, right. Well, while we were hiking, there was another terrorist incident. Heathrow. More bombs. They got to all of them in time . . . except one. Three ­people killed—­a little boy and his young parents. Tragic.”

“What the hell? Why didn’t you tell us?” Sam said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Sounds of frustration rippled through the group. The ­couple behind the counter had stopped talking and seemed to be listening to the discussion intently. Neither were making any attempt to make the coffees Oliver had ordered.

Oliver shrugged. “Didn’t want to ruin the party vibe. No one likes a buzzkill. Besides, more ­people were killed in Afghanistan last week than in Heathrow. Want me to update you on all of the global deaths every morning?”

“Wait, was it connected to the Waterloo bombs?” Ralph asked. “Heathrow? Was it the same ­people?” His long wavy hair had gone past the point of hipster cool and was now closer to the tramp end of the spectrum.

Thomas, who was sitting next to Evan and staring at his iPhone, said, “Sounds like it. BBC News says three northern MPs were flying into Heathrow that day. Too much of a coincidence for them not to be linked, surely? Powerful ­people being targeted?”

Oliver shrugged again. His nonchalance grated on Kayla. He had the ambivalence toward tragedy of someone who’d never had anything bad happen to him. “Anyway. The folks at Escaping Grey are keen for us fly back on tomorrow, as we originally planned. That cool with everyone? Nobody too scared to board a plane?”

“Actually,” Dave said, exchanging glances with Russia and Kayla, “we’re going to stay on for another month or two. Do a bit more traveling. That okay?”

Oliver frowned. “S’pose. Who’s we?”

“Me, Russia, Sam, Bling, and Kayla.”

Oliver stared at Kayla. She squirmed uncomfortably in her hard plastic chair, wishing her coffee would arrive so she’d have something else to look at. “That should be fine,” he said coolly. “Will have to check with my superiors, though.”

Kayla debated whether to nip outside and call her family. She knew her father sometimes did business in London and flew down to Heathrow when he did. But she was sure she’d have heard by now if something unthinkable had happened, and besides, she was starting to cool down for the first time in weeks. The air-­con was a godsend.

The group chatted amongst themselves for a while, glancing at the television every few minutes to check for updates. Nothing. Nobody was in a particular rush to leave. It was over a hundred degrees outside, and the idea of traipsing around another national park in the blazing sun wasn’t too appealing.

Bling eventually returned to the table, at least fifty-­two percent of the color back in her face. “Everyone’s okay,” she said, slightly breathless. She grabbed a condensation-­coated glass of icy water from the table and downed the whole thing in one gulp. Her flowery sundress was damp with sweat and clung to her skin, and her oversized sunglasses kept sliding down her shiny forehead. She did not look well.

“You all right, Bling?” Russia asked.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. Any more news?” She turned to the television. The news was showing footage of evacuated passengers standing outside the train station in hoards. Many were taking pictures and videos on their smart phones as events unfolded, and a young woman in a dishevelled suit was crying. There was no mention of any links to the Heathrow attacks.

“Ah, well,” Dave said, ever the optimist. “All the more reason to stay put in Thailand.”

F
O
R
O
N
C
E
,
K
A
Y
L
A
was grateful for her nan’s inconveniently timed phone call. It interrupted the graphic daydream she was experiencing in which Sam was showering Bling’s impossibly pert breasts with passionate kisses.

“Hi, Nan. How are you?”

“Hello, is that you, Kayla?”

“Yes, Nan, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

“You’re having a beer? Lovely, sweetheart.” Her nan’s amicable northern accent, full of whoops and twangs and vaguely Scottish notes, jolted Kayla with a pang of homesickness. “I just thought I’d check in with you. Nasty business, all these bombs. Still, I’m glad you’ll be back home and safe with us soon. Are you keeping well?”

Kayla looked around. She was lying on one of the world’s most beautiful beaches, Thong Nai Pan Noi, wiggling her toes in warm sand with the baking sun searing her skin in the most pleasant of ways. Together with its twin cove, Thong Nai Pan Yai, the beach on a gentle double bay, it formed a buttock-­shaped imprint in the coastline. It was softly curved with white sands that tipped the rain-­forest-­swept mountains behind them.

The waves didn’t so much crash in the background as fizz onto the shore like an ice cube being plopped into a glass of cola. Her best friends were laughing in the distance. Russia had scooped Dave up in her arms and was twirling around in the shallowest parts of the sea, threatening to dunk him under. Bling was delicately flicking water at Sam, who ripped his arms through the salty water and drenched her from head to toe in return.

No, Kayla thought. She definitely wasn’t keeping well.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said to her nan. “How are you?”

“Just fine? It sounds like you’re having a great time out there. I can hear ­people laughing in the background. Are they your pals? Oh, I do hope you’re making friends out there. I’d hate for you to be lonely.”

Having friends isn’t a fail-­safe against loneliness
. “Yeah, I have an awesome group of friends.”

“Good! That’s good. Are you looking forward to coming home? It’s this weekend you’re due back, isn’t it? We’re all so excited to see you, poppet, it really hasn’t been the same without—­”

“Actually, that’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Kayla interjected with a little white lie. She hadn’t given her family much thought at all in making her decision. “We’re planning on staying out here for a little while longer. We’re having fun, and what with the terrorist attacks and all . . . Is that all right?”

“Oh. Right. Well, I’m glad you’re having fun, I suppose.” Kayla heard a fumbling with the phone, followed by a short, sharp sniff. “It’s just that we all thought you were only away for eight weeks. It’s been hard for us, you know, and —­”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly been easy for me either, Nan,” Kayla snapped. She gulped, already regretting it. “I’m sorry. I just can’t bear the thought of coming home knowing Gabe won’t be there. I’m missing you all, obviously. Of course I am. It’s just easier to forget, out here. Forget everything that happened.”

The line went dead.

K
AYLA ISOLATED
H
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L
F
for the rest of the day. Her nan’s animosity in hanging up had caught her off-­guard. She tried to call back, thinking that perhaps Nan had accidentally pressed End Call, but there was no answer. Lying on the beach, she felt utterly detached. Detached from her friends, from her family, from her brother’s memory. From herself.

Bling skipped over to her then. “Are you coming for a swim?” She flicked a starfish in her direction, giggling childishly. It narrowly missed Kayla’s thigh.

Kayla paused. Then, in a voice so low it was almost a growl, she muttered, “Get the fuck away from me.”

Both Kayla and Bling recoiled simultaneously. Bling blinked incredulously several times in succession. The sun was smothering, wrapping a blanket of heat around Kayla’s mouth and nose. Bling took a few steps backward, her mouth curved into an O, and turned to run back toward the sea.

What just happened?

It was the pause that scared Kayla. The pause had given her the opportunity to stifle her rage—­to swallow it, bury it, do anything but let it escape. But she hadn’t.

She’d wanted to release it.

It had felt good.

T
HE FULL MOON
Party was too much of everything.

Too many ­people, too much noise, too much alcohol. Too much heat, too much sand lodged in places it should never be lodged. Too much freedom.

Not enough air, not enough solid ground, not enough time to breathe. Kayla was spinning out of control, away from her friends, away from who she once was.

Bass, beer, a heart bursting through her chest. Was it her own? She didn’t know.

Everyone blurred into one person, one pulse, but not in a good way. Panic scorched through her eyes, blinding her. Her hair was stuck to her forehead with gloopy sweat. She staggered from body to body, bouncing, playing human dodge ’ems in a fairground of fear.

Someone offered her something. Who was that? What was it? A small white pellet. Smooth in her palm, she stroked it with her thumb, momentarily entranced by its minuscule stature. This pill was tinier than a popcorn kernel. This pill could make her mind implode. It could kill her. Or it could fill her with ebullience, make colors theatrical and smells flamboyant and sounds carnivalesque. It was only a deep breath and a millisecond of bravery away.

It could make her feel joy, or it could kill her. Euphoria or euthanasia.

Win-­win.

She swallowed the pill.

Chapter 20

May 24, England

N
OW IT WAS
her turn to apologize.

Last night came back to Kayla in flashes. The initial euphoria. If she’d been sober, perhaps she would have forced herself to assess whether she’d have preferred the alternative, but she was too happy to care much. She’d loved everyone. Race, gender, orientation became one; she was in tune with the heartbeat of humanity. She recalled grasping the hands of strangers and making them twirl her round and round like a tetherball around a pole. Her hands had frolicked through the air, rippling and swooping in a special kind of dance they’d choreographed of their own accord. She’d been carnal—­horny for happiness.

Her friends made her chest swell like a river bursting its banks, overflowing with affection. Even Bling’s china doll appearance and delicate voice had become endearing, not infuriating. Sam’s crooked nose and swelling eye made her caress him in a motherly swoon, treating him like an injured toddler and cooing.

Wait, why did Sam have a swelling eye?

She didn’t have time to rest on the thought for too long. There were too many other shameful snippets to work through. She’d save the worst recollection for last.

Next, out had come her phone. She left a voice mail for Nan. She couldn’t remember what she’d said, exactly, but hoped the theme of forgiveness had been understood. She had also left a voice mail for Gabe. In Ecstasyland, she still had a brother.

A handsome stranger had appeared before her, conjured from the sand as if by sorcery. He had certainly been a magical sight—­a topless concoction of tan and abs and fluorescent body paint, handing her a plastic cup containing a clear alchemist’s potion of cheap vodka and very little else. She had taken a hearty pirate’s swig. Love—­or was it lust? All of her sentiments were blended in one big melting pot of passion—­propelled her forth. She was kissing him, and he was kissing her back, and Sam was watching.

Something within Kayla fluttered excitedly. Presumably, the same feral part of her that had experienced such pleasure in biting back at Bling. She kissed the stranger harder, faster. In that moment, she knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that she was the finest kisser in the Northern Hemisphere. She laced her fingers through her enchanting companion’s velvety hair, nibbling his lip, grazing his soft neck with birdlike pecks. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Sam had turned away. It became clear that she needed to up the stakes. Random Gorgeous Man wasn’t enough to pierce Sam’s very core in the same way hers had been.

Without warning her suitor, she had swung on her heel, overshooting slightly and lurching sideways before staggering to find her feet. Her hands flung out to both sides as if she was learning to surf and she remained in that position, scanning for her next prey.

Her eyes had locked onto his. Her random man was staring hungrily at her. Suddenly, she too was ravenous.

Kayla had taken one last glance at Sam, drinking in every inch of his agonized expression, and pounced.

“Kay-­laaaaah,” Russia half sang, half whimpered as Kayla attempted, unsuccessfully, to dash to the bathroom before her roommates demanded an explanation. “What happened last night, you saucy minx?”

Kayla sighed and gave up trying to escape. She flopped back onto her bed and emitted a long, deep groan. Her head was killing her. All she could think about was water. How sweet would an ice-­filled pint glass of water taste, so cold the outside was speckled with condensation.
Maybe even a slice of lemon. . .

Bling, who was lying with her face to the wall, muttered, “What a player.” Her words were tinged with jest rather than malice. Kayla was pleased her frighteningly friendly persona last night had helped soothe the ill effects of her earlier malevolent words.

“Come on, then, spill the beans,” Russia said. “What happened with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome we saw you talking to last night? Well, by talking to I mean—­”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Kayla threw a pillow at Russia, who sat cross-­legged on the floor, rolling up her clothes and stuffing them into her backpack. They were due to leave in an hour. “God, I was an idiot last night.”

“You were funny! I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“I’ve never been like that before,” Kayla admitted.

“Had you . . . you know, taken something?” Russia tried to sound casual.

“Ugh. Yes. I hate myself.” Russia stared at her, unblinking. Kayla said defensively, “What? You’re the Queen of the Stone Heads!”

Russia laughed awkwardly and shrugged. “Yeah, weed. That’s different from . . . whatever you took.”

Kayla was disappointed in herself. Her best friend’s words stung.

Thankfully, Russia wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound. “Hey. Cheer up, buddy. I’m not here to judge. Did you enjoy it?”

“Honestly? Yeah. At first, anyway. I was literally in love with everyone I bumped into. I’ve never felt happiness like it. I wouldn’t do it again, though, it was really stupid. I have no idea who gave it to me, what was in it, nothing. It could have killed me.”

“Didn’t you think of that before you took it?”

Kayla shook her head. It was easier than explaining that the risk had been a coin toss she wouldn’t have minded losing.

“Anyway, you rascal. Tell me what happened next!” Russia had abandoned her haphazard packing and was staring intently at her.

If she told her the truth, Kayla realized, she’d have to confess all of the events she’d failed to share. The creepy levels of admiration, the leering, the near-­rape. She’d wanted to bury it, forget it ever happened. And until now she’d been successful. But she’d dug it back up all on her own, exposing the shallow grave she’d tucked her secret into just over a week ago. Now she was sitting beside the fresh, moss-­free tombstone, surrounded by dirt and shame and clutching a shovel, with no choice but to deal with the consequences.

Kayla couldn’t meet Russia’s eyes. “I kissed Oliver.”